


Tribute to the Golden God

by Lovova



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Multi, holy shit what am I writing here??!, kinda sorry, not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovova/pseuds/Lovova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, here we go, Charlie, your sick little fantasy played out to the letter. Look, I even came onto you in the night! Are you finally satisfied?" Dennis laughed and leaned in close; whispering directly into the ear of his small, frightened Janitor, "The Nightman cometh, Charlie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tribute to The Golden God  
By Lovova

Authors Note: This shit is dark guys. And I only mean for it to get darker as I go along. Seriously, this whole series is basically intended just to be a Charlie!tortureporn. It might develop into a Hurt/Comfort fic one day, but that will only ever be an afterthought, not the point. So if you're into this sort of thing, great! Enjoy the ride and feel free to suggest things in the comment sections. 

A note on the characterization: I've basically tried to write Dennis, and by a larger extent the rest of the Gang outside of Charlie, as who they are in the series but without that underlining love for each other that keeps the characters from straight up murdering everyone's asses. This story takes place after season ten, before season eleven. I don't dislike any of the characters, and none of my interpretations are meant to be offensive to any given character. 

Some of them will probably be offensive regardless of intention.

The screen fades to black. Music plays. 

2:45 AM

On a Tuesday

Philadelphia, PA

One things needs to be perfectly clear, and that is that it wasn't a strike out. The girl, what had been her name, Samantha? Sandra? What did it matter. She had been inadequate, unsightly and horrible, practically disfigured, as too many girls were proving to be these days once Dennis had gone through all the trouble of presenting value and physically interacting, only to be...disgusted, later. When they looked at him with those eyes...those judging, undesirable eyes, telling him No.

Like they had the Right!? Like they even Understood!?

In the past he might have not taken No for an answer, would have pressed on, convinced her of what she would undoubtedly miss out on, what All girls who didn't get a taste of him missed out on. They always succumbed, eventually. But he was off his game. No. No. They were off Their game. He would pick a girl who seemed like a nine, a ten on the charts at the Time, but oh, ooooh, once they got to opening their stupid, scowering, Judging mouths...

That was the problem, though, wasn't it? Girls. They were too uppity these days. It was the medias fault. All these stupid new liberal bullshit movies with strong female protagonists. All these little reminders of woman in history doing so called Important things. Let it go? You Let It Go!

Dennis blinked, and stared at the front door of the bar. His bar. He hadn't meant to come here, had followed his feet here, but he supposed he had wanted a beer. What had he been thinking about? Stupid Disney songs? No, girls. Media ruining woman. Making them feel strong. Didn't they understand making them feel unsafe and in need of his protection was his Fucking Main Move!?

The world was cruel. He unlocked the front door and walked in, blearily looked around as he noticed that the lights were still on. Fucking assholes had left the lights on. No, wait, they hadn't. Had they? Because they had all closed the bar together. He had seen Dee turn off the lights. So that meant....

Dennis let that line of thinking trail off and die. He didn't care. He felt sick. Anger, familiar, constant, oppressive rage danced through his veins and thumped through his heart. He didn't feel alright. He never felt alright these days. When was the last time he had felt Good?

When had it all gone so wrong?

Dennis felt his eyes sting and redden at that thought, one that wasn't new lately. That pang of regret, of self doubt, of humility stinging him with shame and self loathing. He hated those feelings. He had never used to feel like that before, not when mom was around. Mom. Mommy. She would have understood. Maybe. She had been a major bitch, but at least she had understood. She had understood.

He was a God. A Golden God. Why didn't the world Understand?

Let it be clear. Let it be told plainly, in the confines of the medium, obvious to the world and hidden from the man in question. Dennis was losing his mind. Perhaps had already lost it. It's difficult to say why, and much easier to say why not. Too many factors. Too much hurt. If life had been different. If anything had been different, things might have turned out differently. 

Different. Not necessarily better. But, honestly, how could it have gone worst? None of them would recover. Five little lives, destroyed, irreparably. They hadn't been worth much to begin with, but they had at least had the comfort of being in their little corner of hell together. Maybe not able to rely on each other, but at least able to relate.

And then, one day, on a Tuesday, Dennis found Charlie asleep behind the bar, and he got a mean little idea, and everything went wrong.

This narrative is too far ahead. And Charlie is asleep behind the bar now. Dennis can explain.

He went behind the bar to grab himself a beer and almost wasn't surprised to find Charlie curled up asleep in the space behind the register, multiple bottles of beer decorating the space around him, telling a pretty little story all by themselves. Of course, the lights. Charlie had used his key to get in, locked up behind himself, turned on the lights, and had drunk from the supply till he had fallen asleep. An easy story. Who knew why he had felt the need to sleep here rather then his shit hole apartment. Sure, there were a million reasons Dennis could think of off the top of his head as to why someone would prefer to sleep here rather then there, but those things had never seemed to stop this shit for brains from sleeping in his home before, so why...

The thought trailed and died. That happened more and more often these days. At least the anger was dulling. A mixture of disgust and amusement at the sight in front of him was oddly calming. But, then, Charlies antics sometimes had that effect on him. Dennis knew he was well above the common man, above pretty much everyone. It was nice to be around someone who showed that off so clearly. 

Dennis grabbed a beer and thought idly of leaving Charlie to sleep. The thought hadn't even finished before he had opened the bottle and started pouring the liquid over the slumped figure. “Wakey wakey, you weird little asshole.” Dennis prompted, contempt putting an edge to his words. He wasn't even mad. Not at Charlie. But the acid, that bitter aftertaste of the disastrous date with WHATEVERTHEFUCKHERNAMEWAS-

Dennis blinked and breathed deeply, the rage back, like little electricity dancing and skittering across his soul. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream at Charlie. He wanted to kick the little fuckers teeth in as his friend jerked awake, blinking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, maybe high off of something, maybe having gone to sleep sobbing, who even knew? Dennis suppressed the urge to attack, buried the anger deep. It wasn't Charlies fault. Dennis had to remember that. He had promised himself to stop taking his fury out on his Gang. It wasn't classy. It wasn't Good. It wasn't Merciful.

And he could be merciful. He Could be. A Merciful God.

Dennis blinked. The thought vanished. He really needed to figure out why that kept happening.

Charlie was saying something. Dennis was getting himself another beer and decided to tune in, because why else wake up the idiot? He supposed he wanted the company. He was allowed to feel lonely. It was Allowed.

“-so I tried to sneak back into the apartment, but Frank knew that I was going to try scaling into the window from the neighbors apartment, I guess, because he locked the window, the jerk, which wouldn't have been so bad except the neighbor came home while I was crawling back in and they chased me down the street, and I decided I should probably hide behind a locked door, so I came here and hid behind here and I guess they didn't find me because no one busted in the window-” Dennis decided this was enough information and tuned out again, already on his second beer by the time Charlie had gotten to this point of his ramble. So Frank had locked Charlie out of the apartment. Okay. Mystery solved. And...

That was it. What else was there? What had he come here for? For a few drinks? Why hadn't he gone home? He was so Tired. Tired of Everything. Now here he was stuck with Charlie while the guy got himself more beer and rambled off a mile a minute about something that Dennis didn't care about, and thus No On in the World cared about. Why was Charlie still Talking? Who did he think he was impressing? What made him think he even had the Right?!

Why the FUCK had she rejected him!?

“Charlie, shut up already!” Dennis shouted, slamming his bottle down onto the counter, causing Charlie to jump in his stool. When had he moved? Dennis had lost sight of his environment. That had been happening a bit lately. He had decided this was not an issue a long time ago. “I don't care what you're doing here, okay? You can do whatever the hell you want, you don't have to keep me fucking informed of your latest bout of preposterous bullshit every time I see you! I'm a very busy man, okay, I can't spend all my time listening to every stupid little thought that pops into your head!”

“Wow, geez, alright.” Charlie squirmed in his chair uncomfortably, doing that thing that he and Mac did lately, where they wouldn't look him in the eye when they tried to have an argument with him. It pissed Dennis off endlessly. If they were going to defy him, couldn't they at least have the dignity to do it Bravely? Fuck, even DEE could look him in the Damn eye when she was Bitching At Him!“What the hell man, it wasn't like I was, okay, yeah, maybe you didn't ask, but you don't have to bite my head off, you know you've been kind of doing that a lot lately and I don't...” he paused, looking around as if there might be someone to help him out, the Coward, his hands, filthy, always Filthy, gesturing jerkily towards the empty bar, “and if you're so busy, what are you even doing here, we're not open man! There is literally nothing, absolutely nothing going on right now, okay!?”

“Look, this is my bar, okay, this, see all this!?” Dennis gestured around the empty pub, a grand display of his modest kingdom. “This is mine, and sometimes, I like to come here to catch up on some work, to keep this fucking place running! Work, Charlie, work? Have you ever fucking heard of it!?”

Charlies mouth hung open, looking stunned and pissed, but still unable to properly look him in the eyes as Charlie just glanced up and glanced down again, still gesturing at him as if he was speaking directly to him, rather then mentally hiding like the little Girl he was inside. “Okay, wow, first of all, first of all, this is Franks bar, okay, he has the biggest share and we all know it! Second of all, I work late all the time, and I never see you come here after the bar is closed, okay, so don't you tell me about work when I'm doing all the Charlie work and you're off banging some random girl-”

The rage. The Rage. How dare he bring her up. How Dare He Bring Her Up, when the wound was so FRESH! The rejection from that ugly, man hating, dyke of a bitch, and so many...too many from girls just like her, for the last year. Too many girls. Too many girls who didn't Understand. Who rejected their God! What was wrong with him?

No. Wrong. That was the wrong thought. What was wrong with Her. That had been the thought. The other thought hadn't happened. It Hadn't Happened. He was a Golden God. A gift of Beauty amongst this rotting sea of Ugliness. She hadn't been good enough. No one was good enough. WHO THE FUCK DID CHARLIE THINK HE WAS!?

Dennis hadn't realized he was hearing a ringing sound until his vision cleared, it's deafening tone fading out as Charlie garbled protests started coming in. Why was he talking like that, all stunted and gasping? Dennis blinked. Charlie was beneath him, Dennis's hands around his neck. Dennis felt a dull, thudding pain in his side and had a sudden vague vision of Charlie trying to punch him in his stomach, trying to push him off. When had that happened? A minute ago? It could have been a year ago. The memory felt strange. Like he only knew it had happened by watching a home movie of a childhood whose days had been long forgotten. He was choking Charlie, who was now focusing his weakening hands on trying to pry Dennis off of his neck. That was happening right now. He should probably focus on that.

Dennis seriously thought about letting Charlie go, getting up and maybe making some half-hearted excuse. Charlie would forgive him. The Gang always forgave each other for these Little Moments. It happened. It didn't happen this time. The same dark urge that had walked him to the bar, woken Charlie, and then attacked his friend whispered into his heart, and instead Dennis heard himself say without really consciously deciding to do so, “Why do you do this to me, Charlie? Why do you push me to this? Why don't any of you understand? It's not hard. It's so simple. Give fealty to the Lord, and good things will happen. Speak blasphemy, you will be smite. It's not hard.”

But to Dennis's confusion, he found that wasn't true. It Was hard. Rock solid, actually. Dennis found himself with Charlie beneath him, trying to talk through rare and shallow breaths like an idiot, and himself with an erection that was actually painful in its fullness. He supposed he shouldn't have been that surprised. A good struggle had always been a guilty pleasure of his. But the idea that Charlie, of all people, could inspire that sort of arousal was...was...

Dennis blinked. Lost his train of thought. He watched Charlies eyes start to role back into his head and subconsciously eased the pressure, Charlies relieved, heaving gasps of air sounding almost as good as a pretty young woman's sharp sounds of pleasures and pains, both feelings Dennis hugely got off too. Once Charlie had a few breaths in him, Dennis tightened the hold again. Charlie scratched his nails against Dennis's arms hard enough to draw blood and thrashed beneath him, and Dennis tightened his hold even further when Charlie tried punching his face and, not managing the strength needed for any sort of decent momentum, tried instead helplessly to push at his face as if somehow this might propel him backwards. Helplessly. That was it, though, wasn't it. His arousal wasn't about Charlie. Who could get aroused at something like Charlie? No. It was about the helplessness of this tiny little uppity bitch who thought he was so Fucking Tough. Everyone gets scared when Charlie goes off the handle, everyone gets nervous because no one is sure what Charlie is going to do next, and the violent little idiot always used that element of surprise to his advantage. But look at him now. Now look at who was caught off guard? He was so helpless. He could die right now. Dennis could Kill Him. The choice was In His Hands. 

An executioner next to the button of the electric chair. A dictator with the fate of a village at the end of his military guns. A God and his Sacrifice.

Shit, it was hot. It was So Fucking Hot.

He released the pressure again, though before Charlie could finish catching his breath Dennis let go of his neck and caught Charlies flailing wrists, pinning them down above his shoulders as Dennis laid his elbows firmly against the joints between his shoulder blades, his face nuzzling against the press of Charlies ear as he whispered to the dazed man. “Is this what you were looking for, Charlie? Is this what you wanted? Are my hands strong enough, sexy enough? I came onto you in the night even. This is that sick little fantasy of yours played out to the letter, Charlie, are you finally satisfied?” Dennis giggled into Charlies ear, an adrenaline rush dancing through that already prickling electricity of RAGE going through him, mixed with a curious form of Joy. He hadn't felt his good in Such a Long Time. “The Nightman Cometh, Charlie.” Dennis whispered through the giggles, and just because he could, he placed a gentle, sweet little kiss on Charlie's ear. 

And then Charlie bit him.

Had Charlie not been hyperventilating at the same time as the bite to Dennis's neck it might have been more damaging, but a flash of fear and a memory of the story of the Mall Santa was enough to shock Dennis backward, to pull his hands away from Charlies wrists as he fingers desperately checked the bite, looking for the blood he was certain would be there. He didn't feel blood, but he was unbalanced enough that Charlie could push him backwards, and Dennis fell with a thump to his head as it connected with the tile. It hurt, and so did the bite and so did his head, but there was a sort of numbness to him. Or maybe it was just the impact of the rage and the joy and the self loathing buried deep, deep down. Maybe too many things were happening in his head right now for the pain to register the way he knew it should. His brain was foggy and sharp and clear at the same time. Charlie was escaping. Charlie was heading towards the door. Dennis almost didn't care.

Charlie would tell the others.

That got him up and moving, and he moved fast, so fucking fast, holy SHIT. He didn't even remember hopping the bar and bolting past Charlie, slamming into the door with enough forced that its edges creaked and might have snapped had Charlie not managed to stop himself mid-momentum as he stared, terrified, at Dennis's face, which was twisted and contorted with rage in his eyes and a wide, crooked smile on his face. “Where you going Charlie?” Dennis asked, “This is what you wanted, right? This is why you lured me in here, liquored me up, seduced me, isn't it!? I thought you loved the Nightman, Charlie? I thought you loved me!”

Charlie backed up rapidly, looking around, his stupid little brain whirring, Dennis could see it, could see those rusty, dusty cogs in his head spinning rapidly, like they did sometimes. “You've lost it, you've lost it,” Charlie kept muttering over and over again, addressing Dennis without talking to him, looking at him but only to keep an eye out, to wait for the attack. Coward. COWARD!

That was okay, though. Dennis liked Charlie like this. He liked the fear. He felt so powerful. He felt so Overwhelming. 

It wouldn't last though, not unless Dennis did something quick. Charlie was a survivor, he wasn't so far gone as to forget that now. The bite would only be the start. He couldn't allow Charlie to collect himself enough to grab a weapon. Any of the bottles would give him an edge. A chair would hold him up a bit as well. He could NOT be allowed to run for the basement or the vents, both areas whose inner structures were too alien to Dennis and whose structure was a second home for Charlie, filled with nooks and crannies and potential weapons he couldn't prepare for. He had to keep him here. He had to get him onto his back again. He had to gain back the Control.

Charlie was too quick to tackle down. Too used to danger to freeze up in the face of aggression. Dennis had to do this the old fashioned way. The best way he knew how, really. He had to get into Charlies Head.

His shoulders relaxed, his head dropped, his hands went up in a sort of mock surrender. He laughed. He groaned. “Oh man,” Dennis sighed, sauntering casually to the nearest stool and slumping down into it unceremoniously, “What even is this, man? What are we even doing?”

Charlie looked at him like a deer caught in headlights, thrown off by this sudden drastic change in atmosphere. Dennis took some pleasure in the stuttering of Charlies tone as he replied rapidly, “What are we doing, what, I don't know what we're doing, what the fuck even was that Dennis, have you lost your god damned mind? You were acting like you were going to fucking rape me down there, you psycho! All that fucking talk about the Nightman, where the fuck did that even come from, what the hell just happened!?”

If Charlie was smart he would run now. He'd run far away and tell Frank or Mac or the police, someone who could help him. But Charlie wasn't smart and Dennis was one of his best friends, and he didn't know what to do now that Dennis was sitting down and not even facing him, leaning against the counter like he was exhausted, just chuckling to himself. A very big part of Charlie wanted to wait around and give Dennis a chance to explain this terrible mess away, to make things normal again. Charlie, heart still pounding, gave in to that desire. He didn't want any of this to be a thing that happened. Dennis needed to take it back, to take it all back. It'd all be fine if Dennis took it back.

Dennis sighed and stared off into the distance for a moment before looking Charlie dead in the eye, smiling, shrugging, “I don't know. Tonight was kind of tough for me, Charlie, you know how stressed out I can get sometimes, and I guess I just kind of lost my...lost my temper for a minute. Hey, you know what, I don't say this to too many people, but you know what,” Dennis, still grinning, stood up and opened up his arms, the movement prompting Charlie to take a few precautionary step backs, “I'm a big enough man to realize I owe you an apology. I'm sorry Charlie. Come here, give me an embrace, man, lets bury the hatchet here. “

“What? No, no, I don't want to hug you man, are you crazy, after all that, no way.” Charlie insisted firmly, his arms curling around his stomach in a sort of protective motion, fingers rubbing at his elbows as he eyed Dennis warily, “Like, seriously man, that was absolutely batshit insane what just happened. I can't even really wrap my head around this right now. I should probably leave.”

“No, no, come on, don't leave right now, don't leave while you're angry,” Dennis insisted, sitting back down, “You should never leave the fight angry, that's how a simple fight gets blown out of proportion. Come on, if you're not going to to fight me, sit down, let me get us a couple of beers, and we'll talk about this, okay? Like civilized men.”

“Talk about, what is there to talk about?” Charlie demanded, but even as he said that he took a step forward, though the step was small and uncertain. Dennis smiled encouragingly at him and got up from his stool, heading to the back of the bar to grab the beers. Perhaps gaining some courage by the separation between them thought the solid counter of the bar, Charlie walked over and sat down at the stool, his heart finally calming down from its million mile and hour race, watching as Dennis leaned over to get the beers. Already he was starting to rationalize the last few minutes in his head. Maybe that hadn't been an attempted rape, maybe it had just been a fight. They fought sometimes. Charlie could forgive a fight. Maybe it was just all the talk of the Nightman that had given it all of its rapey undertone. Not that the Nightman was a rapist. But the others never seemed to understand that, they were always accusing his Nightman music of being about rape, so maybe that had put the thought into his head.

Well, that and the erection that Charlie had felt firmly jotted against his stomach through Dennis's jeans. But maybe that had been a misunderstanding too? Mac said that sometimes the adrenaline of wrestling could give you an erection. He had shown him that. So maybe it really was all just a misund-

Charlie saw the bottle coming down on his head, but couldn't think of what to do about it till it had already connected with his skull and he had fallen from his stool, a blaze of pain whitening his vision. 

Charlie wasn't knocked out. At least, he was pretty certain he hadn't been. But his brain was such a jumble of pain and randomly sprawling thoughts that by the time he was coherent enough to take in his surroundings, he had been dragged to his feet by Dennis, who kept murmuring to him false platitudes, insisting with a mean little teasing tone to his voice that the bottle had slipped out of his hands, and Charlie was on his back on the counter, and his hands were going somewhere above his head, where was his hands going, where was his ha-

Charlie only realized he needed to start struggling a half a minute too late as his hands were tied to the tap levers. He craned his neck to see what he had been tied with and recognized the sink rags through the rough texture on his skin before his blurred vision could even focus on them properly. He pulled at the knots and found them surprisingly sturdy. Who knew that Dennis could tie a good knot? Where was Dennis? Where the fuck was Dennis?!

Dennis stood back from his work and stared, somewhat astonished. He was waiting for Charlie to break out of the binds. He was waiting for the another member of the Gang to rush in with police behind them. He was waiting for the god that Mac believed in to appear in a blaze of fire and strike him down with lightening. 

None of these things happened. It was easy. It was So Easy. How could something be wrong when the universe was practically stepping out of his way to allow him to do this? Maybe it wasn't wrong. This was Dennis's bar. He had built this place with his Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Charlie worked for the bar. Charlie worked for Dennis. He practically Owned Charlie. Charlie did the Charlie Work. 

Maybe this was Charlie Work too. 

Charlie was saying something, a rush of verbal garbage stuttering out, sometimes shouting, sometimes not. Dennis wasn't sure what Charlie was saying. He wasn't really listening. It might have been a plea, or a threat. So long as Charlie couldn't pull himself from those binds, it didn't really matter what he had to say about...well, about Anything, really. This was barely even about Charlie. Charlie was just a Vessel to a larger picture, a more absolute truth. Charlie was just...

Dennis blinked, the thought vanishing. But in that thoughts place came an image. An image for whats her name. Cindy. Her name was Cindy. Of course it was Cindy. He saw Cindy there, eyes wide and frightened, tiny, thin body tied to the counter, mewling insincerely in protest when he knew, he Knew, that she wanted him. Wanted to serve her Golden God. He stared at Charlie, transfixed, basking in the vision of his minds eye as Cindy took Charlies place. She was beautiful, probably more beautiful then she had been in the real world, where she had been cold and ugly and cruel. Her breasts fuller, her mouth more puckering, her ribcage practically nonexistent. A perfect gift for a Perfect God.

Dennis wasn't quite so far gone that even lost in his imagination, he still couldn't recognize Charlie right in front of him. Couldn't feeling his plump, sickly skin where he imagined taunt, bronzed perfection. Couldn't hear Charlies voice go from panicky to enraged to terrified as Dennis trailed his hands up and down his body until they settled on the top linings of Charlies jeans. He could smell Charlie too, a rancid, spoiled, sewage smell that always seemed to trail the little filth, but Dennis didn't mind that break in illusion. In his mind he still saw Cindy; and, in truth, his erection wasn't dismissing the situation right in front of him either; he found Charlie himself almost intoxicating to study in detail. Cindy was his Sacrifice, but Charlie beneath his hands was where his power was coming from: Oh, it felt So Good. 

“It's okay Charlie,” Dennis whispered through Charlies pointless chattering, playing with Charlies waistband, pressing his fingers experimentally into the skin, digging in his fingernails. “The Nightman's here to make you a man again.” 

“-oh shit stop it stop it stop-”

Dennis pulled Charlies jeans slightly down, having no real desire to see Charlie fully naked, and noted a very interesting reaction. The second his ass was exposed Charlie went perfectly quiet, completely still, and he stared with an intense sort of fixation at the ceiling, his lips firmly pressed together into thin, furrowing lines. To see if Charlie had fully disconnected with the situation, Dennis dug his fingers into Charlies side, and watched with some satisfaction as Charlies body jerked away from him, a startled, throaty grunt giving way when Dennis might have expected another rush of gibberish. From a psychological viewpoint, it was fascinating...but maybe not unexpected. Though he couldn't remember anyone specifically saying so, Dennis was certain everyone in the Gang knew that Charlie had been molested as a child by his 'Nightman', and perhaps whoever that had been had trained this sort of silent, frozen response in him. He really was a present from the universe. Pre-broken and ready to use. 

Dennis was amazed at how calm he felt. This was joy. This was true happiness. He felt so alive and in control. He almost didn't want to do it. A part of him wanted to skip the sex and just live in this moment forever, with Charlie helpless before him and pretty girls, not just Cindy, no, too many girls who had not understood, dancing through his mind, each taking Charlies place for a moment, a second, just long enough to see them down and tied and frightened. But he had to do it. He Had To. Charlie was practically making him. If the idiot figured out that Dennis didn't actually mean to hurt him, then he would stop being afraid. If he stopped being afraid, Dennis would lose his control. If Dennis lost control, the Rage would come back and consume him alive. So Dennis had no choice. He had to hurt Charlie. Charlie was Making Him. Charlie Was Making Him!

Calm. Control. Dennis smiled and pulled a condom out of his back pocket, because who knew what the Dirtgrub could have, and unzipped himself, his own erection pushing effortlessly through the teethed fabric. One hand stroked Charlies stomach while his other hand deftly took off the packaging and applied it; this, after all, was not his first rodeo. He knew his fair share, perhaps even more then his fair share, about how gay sex worked, and wondered if without lube if Charlie would even be wide enough to take him in. He supposed it didn't matter. If it wasn't wide enough, he would just push harder. It would be unpleasant, but Dennis found that he rather hoped it would be. Charlies disconnect was starting to annoy him. Dennis should have been Charlies whole world right now. How dare he ignore him?!

A surge of bravery, a confidence in control, pushed Dennis to lean his whole body over Charlies, practically laying on top of the other man, putting his face close to the others, once more in biting range. Dennis didn't know what he was going to do if Charlie bit him again. If the other man tore his skin open, he would have to go to the hospital. If he went to the hospital, he would probably go to jail shortly after, either for this assault, for the the murder he would commit to try and hide the assault. He wasn't afraid. He was confident in his control. He could see it in the way Charlies eyes searched the ceiling rapidly, but never leaned towards Dennis, averting his gaze as best he could, though Dennis put himself straight in the man's vision. “You seem comfortable,” Dennis mused, one hand keeping himself steady as another traced the reddening welts that were forming where he had choked the man, playing with the droplets of sweat, “I think someone's done this before. Or had it done to him, more likely,” Dennis chuckled, then leaned in real close, fucking DARING the idiot to try and bite him again, “You think this might be your fault? Sure, once is understandable, a crime, really, but multiple times? Only one consistency. Only one common denominator here. Do you know what 'common denominator' means, Charlie? Charlie? Do you?!”

The slap rang like a bell and Dennis focused on Charlies eyes, which rolled in his sockets, and blurred and unfocused they finally turned towards them, though Dennis half suspected Charlie wasn't even aware where he was looking. A rush of murmuring, “No, no. No.” 

It took Dennis a minute to realize that Charlie was trying to answer his question, and he calmed, now stroking the reddening spot on Charlies face, his eyes affectionately drinking in every detail of him. “It means if something keeps happening to you, over and over again, you're probably making it happen yourself. Basically. Simplified. Do you understand, Charlie?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes.” 

“Do you agree?”

Dennis watched Charlies brow furrow, his face tighten in confusion, struggling to follow the line of thought. His eyes wandered and, not to be ignored again, Dennis firmly grabbed Charlies chin, refocusing him. He could have hit him again. Instead, patiently, he clarified, “Do you, Charlie, agree that what is happening right now is all your fault? Hm?”

“Oh...” Charlie swallowed audibly before shaking his head slowly. “N-!”

Before Charlie could finish that thought one of Dennis's hands was back on Charlies throat, squeezing, the other grabbing one of Charlies legs and hoisting it up as far as he could push it, exposing Charlie to him. 

He pushed in.

It was weird. It was like a dry cunt, though he couldn't be certain, as he had never entered a dry cunt before. It took effort to enter, and there was a moment there where Dennis was not entirely certain he even could, though he did manage it through sheer willingness to try. He reconsidered his stance on the lube policy, not entirely comfortable, but Charlies startled, pained gasp changed his mind, a rush of excitement fueling him on, pushing him forward, literally.

The friction hurt, but Dennis was taking too much pleasure in Charlies winces and whimpers. He wished Charlie would beg him to stop, wanted that verbal confirmation that Charlie could not fight him, wanted that acknowledgment of power. Instead Charlie seemed just absolutely determined to study every inch of the ceiling. Dennis was starting to find himself annoyed with his pre-broken toy: what was the fun in this sort of thing if not the struggle? He needed to get Charlie to engage. Maybe...

Dennis focused on his hands, his right one holding up Charlies leg and the other now grasping onto Charlies opposite shoulder, and staring intently at Charlies face, he squeezed both hands as hard as he could, digging in his fingernails. The immediate scrunching of pain in Charlies face sent another wave of excitement through Dennis. Pain. Charlie would react to pain. 

Neat.

Dennis looked around for some inspiration and saw the high powered dish-washing hose that hung above the sink that Charlie was currently tied next to, getting a truly awful idea and feeling so fucking proud of that. Thrusting in again, Dennis used his forward momentum to lean over and grab the hanging nozzle, pulling it over to them. The movement, he supposed, was odd enough to pull Charlie out of his ceiling fixation, because Charlies eyes watched the approaching nozzle carefully, staring up at it in wary apprehension while Dennis aimed it at him.

“You're really dry, you know Charlie?” Dennis drawled, taking a break from his thrusting to lay on top of Charlie lazily, swinging the nozzle above Charlies head casually, “It's really making it hard for me to get off right now, you know? And honestly I think by this point we'd both be glad for me just to finish, right Charlie?”

Charlie glanced at Dennis momentarily before gazing back at the nozzle, looking more and more concerned. The next words came out haltingly, but he managed to stammer out, “Dennis, no, man, seriously, the dish-water is hot, dude, crazy hot, if I do the dishes too long I have to wear gloves just to keep my fingers from burning, please do not spray me in the face with that, do not spray me in the face with that, don't, don't-!”

Dennis laughed as Charlie grew increasingly panicked as Dennis teased him with a few short spurts on his neck, and noticed with interest that Charlie wasn't kidding. The few spots on his neck not already reddened by his earlier grip now burned a soft red flush; this water was hot. Dennis came up with the idea seconds before he said it. “Stop freaking out 'little boy',” Dennis reassured, still enjoying the call backs to Charlies now self fulfilling rape musical, “I'm not gonna spray you in the face with this. I'm gonna spray you in the ass. Right in the crack. That will help with the whole 'getting off' thing. And once I'm satisfied, then this will all be done! Won't that be nice?”

Charlie gave Dennis that look he used sometimes when he couldn't understand an idea, but was pretty sure that was because the idea in question was stupid. “Um, man, I don't think the nozzle is gonna reach down there, and also I don't think that's actually going to work even if it did, because water isn't like, ya know...its not that much of a lubricant, I don't think. How about this, how about, you just untie me, and I'll-”

Dennis gave Charlie another small spray, this time on his shirt, Charlie's gasp being from getting startled rather then any sort of burn this time. “Nope, not gonna happen, nice try Dirtgrub. Here is what's gonna happen. I'm gonna push your legs up and you're gonna bend that malnourished core of yours as far as your sickly, no doubt yellowed bones will let you, till your ass is straight in the air and within distance of this hose. If you don't, or can't, bend that far, then I'm not even going to bother to try to finish. Instead, what I'll do is jury-rig the nozzle so that it stays above your face, constantly shooting water at you, and see what you die of first; drowning, or third degree burns. Any way you look at it, it's a great evening for me.”

Charlie looked at Dennis, stunned, and of all things gave a small, nervous laugh as a response to that fucking demented threat. “Dennis, buddy, I don't know whats wrong with you, but wholly shit man, you wouldn't do that to me, that'd be murdering me, Dennis, I'm your friend, I'm one of you're only friends for fucks sake, you wouldn't-”

Charlie shouldn't have questioned it. If he hadn't questioned it, Dennis wouldn't have had a Point to prove. Charlie Made him do it. He Made Him.

Dennis grabbed Charlies hair, forcefully turned Charlies head away from the direction of the nozzle so that the nozzle was now pointing in the general area behind Charlies left ear, and pulled the lever. 

“No! No! No! Dennis stop, stop, sto-!” Dennis wasn't listening, and it wasn't long before the water started heating up enough that the spray itself started letting off steam, and Charlies begging turned into anguished, animal shouts. Charlie squirmed and thrashed in his bindings and beneath Dennis, Dennis enjoying the ride of staying on top of him, watching Charlies increasingly reddening skin in the increasingly steaming up bar with a sort of clinically detached amusement. Several times he made the decision to stop, to lighten up on the poor guy, and each time he didn't follow that thought process. It was two minutes before Dennis lost interest and finally let go of the nozzle entirely, the water stopping and the hose swinging back to its usual position over the sink.

Dennis watched as Charlie trembled and shook beneath him, his face now pressed tightly into the crook of his shoulder blade as he started to sob. Experimentally, Dennis pressed his fingers into the spot where the boiling water had blasted, causing Charlie to violently shudder and shout, “No!” followed by many more hushed 'no's', Charlie rocking his shoulders back and forth in some instinctual form of self comfort.

Dennis watched all this and felt extremely self satisfied. This was followed by the realization that he was, in fact, no longer hard. Or at least he was no longer as aroused as he had been. He found he wasn't all that disappointed. Hurting Charlie had soothed him in a way that the rape hadn't been doing so, and Dennis realized that he had never really been all that into the idea of raping Charlie anyway. He had just wanted to hurt the guy badly enough to let the anger out. Dennis almost wanted to continue with the rape only because he knew how terribly confusing it would be to Charlie to not finish by this point, and he almost felt like he owed him the climax. But, then, he supposed he didn't really care. He supposed he could just rape Charlie some other time. For now, this was good enough. He was happy with this afterglow, his soul soothed as he watched his little janitor try to cry the terror away.

How the fuck was he going to explain this to the Gang?

Dennis bit his lip ever so slightly, mildly annoyed that his afterglow was being disrupted by the responsibilities of his current situation. He couldn't leave Charlie like this; it would be bad for business, and the Gang would probably call the police on him immediately. He couldn't just let Charlie go; he'd tell someone or go to the police himself. Charlie wasn't above that sort of thing. Dennis had to remember the McPoyles.

The thought of killing Charlie and hiding the body did seriously occur to Dennis, and the God spent several moments giving it thought. It was honestly the safest option, but Dennis knew he wouldn't be able to do it: he wasn't done yet. He wasn't Done. The rage would come back, no doubt, and what would happen when it did? He'd find a new victim? Some random girl on the street? Mac? Sweet Dee? No. That wouldn't do. There was something Right about taking his anger out on Charlie. Charlie made Sense. Dennis honestly couldn't imagine anyone who screamed Filth more then Charlie did. Well, maybe Cricket...but Cricket had already been basically tortured mad. What would be the fun of doing that again? Cricket wasn't a survivor, he just happened to still be alive.

Charlie, though? He survived. He adapted. He'd survive and adapt to this too, or at the very least give it a better effort then anyone else could. And because of that he would be so, so satisfying to rip into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.

Charlie would have to stay. His God willed it so.

That didn't help the current situation though. Dennis really didn't want to go to jail. Nor did he necessarily want the ire of his friends. What to do, what to do, what to do?

Dennis blinked. He lost his trail of thought. In its place came a vision. A sighting of the future. The future he wished for his world. The future he would create. He saw not the ire of his friends. He saw their joy. Their relief. Their Understanding. He saw a church and an altar, and he saw the Troll and the Princess and the Knight gathered around to worship and pay tribute to their Golden God in the sacrifice of the Rat King. 

The Daily Sacrifice.

“It's going to be awesome.” Dennis whispered to himself, a bit overwhelmed by the glorious future he could now see so clearly in his head. He looked back down at Charlie, who was babbling quietly to himself about going to the hospital or something equally as unlikely. Dennis smiled.

“Guess who's taking a trip to the basement?” Dennis sing-songed.

Charlie didn't guess. He just opened his mouth and screamed.

-tbc-


	2. Wrath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. How long has it been? I don't even want to speculate. For those of you who might be wondering what took so long, uh....what can I say, folks?
> 
> Undertale happens.
> 
> With THAT said, moving on!

-

 

Cue Temptation Sensation. 

 

The Gang Pays Tribute to a Golden God

 

Mac was the first member of the gang to show up to the bar that morning, and for a moment Dennis had considered, in the privacy of being the only two in the bar, to tell the Knight, right then and there, what had happened.

 

Mac loved him, after all, and was a hopeless follower besides. It was a good bet that Dennis could talk him into going along with the plan, at least for a little while: the issue was making it stick. The macho idiot was also a huge masochist for guilt, and if Charlies situation made Mac feel guilty enough, Dennis knew the guy would run to tell the nearest authority so that he could have someone punish him properly. That wouldn't do at all. Still, so long as he could keep Mac by his side...he might be the right one to tell first.

 

But the moment to do so came and went and about fifteen minutes later Dee arrived, the two both doing little things to ensure the bar was up and ready to go for the day (though any actual costumer traffic wouldn't happen for another few hours, as it was still only ten in the morning. They didn't tend to get their first drinkers until at least noon, during the lunch/firing hour). Charlies absence was noted, but not overly focused on, as Dennis had made certain to get the essential Charlie work of the morning taken care of long before the others had arrived, so that they had no reason to bitch about it. He knew that, so long as it wasn't overly inconvenient, Charlies MIA status wouldn't bother the others, and no one would go looking.

 

Dennis had worried, at first, that one of them might head into the basement for some thing or another, but that worry was unfounded. The day was remarkably normal, and Dennis felt he was handling himself beautifully, keeping a relaxed, casual air about him as the other two talked about some random, pointless bullshit or another (something to do with Mac's love life, which had been laughably inactive for what, if Dennis's math was right, was coming up to two years now), feeling highly in control of the situation. He wondered if maybe Dee ought to be the first he brought into the fold, but for the life of him couldn't imagine how he would pitch it to her; what, exactly, could he offer her as something to gain? Dee knew how to be a slut when it suited her, she never wanted for male sex partners, so that wasn't a selling point. She might enjoy the power trip, like he himself did, but would she like it enough to risk going to prison...Dee was a stupid bitch, but she wasn't actually dumb. She would understand the risks of what Dennis was trying to do. She might decide right away that those risks weren't worth it.

 

Dennis considered his choices for most the day. He considered them calmly. Almost lazily. He was enjoying it.

 

Then Frank arrived at about two, and Dennis was inexplicably nervous again.

 

“Hey Gang,” the older man huffed, a bead of sweat rolling down his endless forehead as he immediately climbed onto one of the stools, those bi-speckled glasses blinking dazedly around. “So what are we up to, today, huh? Any schemes hatching?”

 

“Not unless you count Mac trying to start dating again a 'scheme',” Dee said with a small roll of her eyes, “He finally noticed this morning that he hasn't been laid in a billion years and now he's freaking out about it.”

 

“Hey, hey now, it has not been years!” Mac lied, glancing nervously back and forth between Dee and Frank, as if he was waiting for the room to burst into laughter. Coward. “But it has been a little while, yeah, a little bit, and I just, you know, it's not wrong because it's Gods way that one should save themselves for marriage anyway, which is important, sure, but even MORE important is making sure that, ya know, I'm worried that people might start thinking that, I don't know, if I'm not out banging hot chicks that-”

 

“That you're gay?” Dennis supplied, enjoying watching Mac flinch at the accusation. At this Frank did laugh, though Dee just, walked to the back of the bar to pour herself a drink as Mac stuttered and stammered.

 

“No, no, I mean, yes, but...the point is!” Mac said, forcing himself back on track, “Is that I need to get laid, and it needs to be with a hot chick, and everyone needs to know about it!”

 

“Eh, that doesn't sound like much of a scheme.” Frank said dismissively, looking towards the other two, “You guys got anything better? Any nefarious things hatching?”

 

'I have Charlie tied up inside a sleeping bag in the basement.' Dennis almost said, a giggly, maddening desire to tell bubbling inside him as he reveled at the normalcy of this conversation. 'He's nursing a fairly bad burn on his forehead and I'm pretty confident he's going to be struggling to breath in there soon, and is likely struggling now. I have no idea if he'll suffocate or not. For all I know, he's already dead.'

 

“Nah, not really.” Dennis actually said, “Dee?”

 

“Eh, I got something cooking, but its not ready for today. Let me pitch it to you Friday,” Dee said, downing the drink in one.

 

“Alright, so putting a peg into Friday, that still leaves us with nothing to do today.” Frank sighed. He suddenly looked around, “Hey, where's Charlie? He might have something. Somebody find Charlie and ask him if he's got any schemes cooking.”

 

A chill ran through Dennis's stomach and shocked His kidneys. This was why He had been nervous before. While Mac and Dee wouldn't think much of Charlie's absence for a good long while now, Frank was...different, about the little rat. Sentimental. And when the old bastard was lucid, he was too smart by half. He was likely going to be the quickest to catch on and the hardest to convince to join in.

 

But not impossible. Dennis could do this. He just needed more time.

 

“He hasn't come in today?” Dennis supplied, putting on his most annoyed face, “You know I took out the trash myself this morning? It was disgusting, I thought I was going to have to burn my clothes off by the end of it. But I managed, so, eh.” Dennis finished, shrugging his shoulders with mild brovado. He didn't want to say He Deserved Respect for stooping so low as to do Charlie work for the sake of the bar, but, well, he did, and he hoped the gang understood that.

 

Rather then appear grateful for Dennis's personal sacrifice, the gang instead focused on Charlies missing status. Ingrates. “He's not here?” Frank asked, again looking around as if Charlie would just suddenly appear, “Well where the hell is he? If he's not home, he's always here.”

 

“So he wasn't home with you?” Mac asked Frank, leaning against the bar stool, no doubt already fantasizing about himself being some sort of karate-expert detective 'solving the case', the predictable idiot. “I just assumed he slept in late or something.”

 

“No, no, he wasn't home at all last night. I mean, he tried to be,” Frank laughed, “But I had some pretty little things over, you know how it is, and I couldn't have him cramping my style, so I locked him out. But he always comes here when I do that. Very strange.”

 

“He's probably in the vents.” Dee said, utterly unconcerned with the whole thing, “or in the basement.”

 

Bitch. Fucking bitch.

 

“Nah, not in the basement,” Dennis said quickly, smoothly adding in, “I had to get another garbage bag from down there for the trash. No sign of him. But Dee's right, he's probably in the vents. Maybe smashing bottles in that stupid room of his. What was it called?”

 

“The Bad Room.” Mac said, “Huh. He only goes there when he's really upset about something though. I wonder what has him so down?”

 

“Who knows with that guy,” Dennis interjected, deciding it was time to get some control over this conversation, “He'll come down when he's ready, I'm personally not all that worried about it, and I can't see why anyone else should be either.”

 

“Well, I mean, if somethings bothering him, Charlie isn't exactly the most stable of guys, it might not be safe to leave it alone.” Mac tried to argue. Not leaving it alone. Whelp. Time to deflect.

 

“But you know what is a big deal? The fact that there is a rumor going around that Mac is gay.”

 

Dennis watched as Mac's eyes got as wide as saucers, Frank chuckling under his breath while Dee looked at Dennis with an air of confusion. Charlie now a million miles away from his thoughts, Mac rambled out, “What? Who?! Who said that!? I swear, whoever is going around telling people that I'm gay is going to get a karate kick straight in the teeth! Oh god, it's because I haven't been banging any ladies, isn't it? My street credit is gone, it's just gone! Shit, guys, what am I going to do?!”

 

Dennis smiled, “Relax, relax, Mac. I have an easy solution. Frank, my good man, why don't you just take Mac here to go bang one of your hookers. One of the really gossipy ones, I'm sure you could point out a few. That would stop these rumors.”

 

“What?” Frank said, looking irritated at the suggestion, “And ruin my own street credit by being seen with this weirdo? Can you even get it up for the ladies anymore, kid?”

 

“What?! What?! Of course I can! Why would you even say that! Oh god that's exactly what I'm talking about! Frank, please, you gotta help me man, bring me to your sluts, I'll bang as many as I can pay for! That will get my name out of the mud!” Mac said, getting to his knees in front of Frank's sitting form, “Please, Frank!”

 

“Oh my god, stand up will ya, I don't need anyone seeing you like that with me,” Frank grumbled, getting off his stool and motioning for Mac to rise, who did so reluctantly, “Alright, alright, I know some good, mouthy hookers, if you get my meaning. Dennis, Dee, you coming with?”

 

“I really don't see any benefit to me going...at all.” Dee replied dryly, “Have fun banging your walking STD's.”

 

“I'm gonna stay behind to keep an eye on the bar. It's almost past lunchtime, we should be getting a few of the more self destructive nine-to-fivers in soon, not to mention the folks who just got fired mid-day. Very good for business, those poor assholes.”

 

Frank just shrugged, “Eh, alright, your loss. Come on, kid, lets go get ourselves some bouncing booties. These broads do anal for a little extra, so you should be fine.”

 

Whatever angry, self-delusional reply Mac had to that was lost once the door closed behind them, and it was just Dennis and Dee in the bar.

 

Dee shot down another drink, looking a mixture of amused and incredibly bored. “Dennis, why the hell did you do that? There's no rumor that Mac is gay. Everyone already KNOWS Mac is gay. I think you were just trying to get rid of him.”

 

“Was I that obvious?” Dennis said idly, feeling far more calm now that Frank was gone, looking over to his sister, who smirked at him. Another small bubble of excitement. Fun. This was fun. He was having fun staring at his sister as she tried to work out his little secret, knowing that whatever she was imagining was nowhere near as extreme as what had actually happened. This was Fun.

 

“I think you,” she pointed to him with one of her freshly painted and yet still chipped fingernails, “actually DO have a scheme going on. What's the game, Dennis?”

 

Something like affection boiled inside of him at that knowing accusation. His sister was a disgusting, degenerate loser...but she always caught on fast, and was always quick to find the profit and (at least try to) put herself in front of it. He had always admired that about her. It was one of the few things he saw of himself, in his twin.

 

His twin. His other, lesser half. His weaker, female self. Did Dennis not have some obligation, to allow His sister the first taste of the tribute? Was she not deserving, at least in the sense that the tribute was His, and she was a part of him? Did the God, after all...not love His royal family above all? Did He not favor His chosen? Was she not His Divine Princess?

 

And so on and so forth.

 

Maybe that was why, deep down, he knew the entire morning that he was going to tell her first.

 

“Hey Dee, come with me.” Dennis said, “I've got something to show you.”

 

-

 

Charlie was actually surprised how effective this binding was. He wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, a master escape artist, but he had gotten himself out of enough situations to be mildly impressed that all of his usual attempts at wild flailing, kicking, screaming and biting had yet to free him from the sleeping bag. After what felt like an hour of trying, a mixture of heat suffocation and disheartened exhaustion had compelled him to just lay still for most of the day, his head resting against the thin padding of the bottom side of the sleeping bag which enclosed him, drooling through his gag as he eventually just sort of fell asleep, despite the awkwardness of his legs being bound criss-crossed and his hands tied behind his back.

 

He didn't sleep steadily. He kept drifting in and out, often brought out of sleep from accidentally putting pressure on the burn on his forehead whenever he rolled his head wrong. The deeper into sleep he got, the more confused those moments of wakefulness were. Why was it so dark? Why was it so hot? Why did his head hurt so badly? Where the fuck was he? He'd wake up a moment, think this for a second, panic at being bound for a minute, and then drift away into sleep again.

 

In all truth, it wasn't the worst morning of sleep he had ever gotten.

 

It wasn't the sound of feet tapping against stairs that woke him up this time, as he had been hearing the sound of the Gang walking around overhead for hours, but the vibrations of feet against the cement that jostled him this time, though only just barely. He heard the murmur of two people talking to each other and recognized one of the voices as the shrillness of Dee, which got him excited, even in his dozed, overheated and not-getting-enough-oxygen state of mind. Dee would let him out of the bag. Dee would bring him to the Gang. The Gang would help him make some sense out of this whole nightmare. He was about to try shouting out through the gag to her, but froze when he recognized the other voice as Dennis.

 

Still, an old instinct, and ancient learned habit, whispered at Charlie. Keep still.

 

The vibrations and murmuring kept going for a moment, and then suddenly, loudly, Dee said, “Holy shit! What the hell, Dennis, is that Charlie?!”

 

-

 

Dee stepped forward to go check on the form in the sleeping bag, which she knew without a doubt would have Charlie inside, but Dennis grabbed at her arm, pulling her back. “Wait, wait, Dee, hear me out, alright? Dee, god damn it, listen to me!”

 

“Dennis, what the hell am I look at, that's Charlie in there, isn't it? Why the hell do you have Charlie in a god damned sleeping bag?” Dee's eyes widened with a new idea, suddenly looking incredibly wary, “He's not dead in there, is he?”

 

“No, what? No, of course he's not dead, Jesus Dee, what kind of a monster do you think I am?” Dennis asked, running a hand through his hair, looking exasperated before suddenly shrugging, “He is tied up though. But not dead! Probably. I haven't checked on him since really early this morning.”

 

Dee wrapped her arms around her chest, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot before calling out, “Charlie, are you dead in there?”

 

Nothing from the sleeping bag.

 

“Don't listen to him, he's just being difficult.” Dennis insisted, calling out to the bag, “Charlie, make a sound or I'm gonna kick you in the crotch, buddy!”

 

A moment of silence. Then from the bag came a low groan and a small wiggle. Charlie was alive.

 

Dee let out a relieved sigh, “Jesus Christ, Dennis, I really thought you had killed Charlie for a minute there.” She then punched him in the arm, “What the hell is going on!?”

 

Dennis rubbed at his arm, looking genuinely hurt, “Ow, Dee, what was that for?”

 

“Charlie is tied up in a bag!”

 

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to hit me, Jees. What, are you on your period, you violent bitch?”

 

“What? Really? You've kidnapped one of our friends, but I'M the one experiencing mood swings? Sure.”

 

“I haven't kidnapped him, he came to the bar willingly.” Dennis said, walking closer to the bag, using the tip of his foot to jostle Charlie a bit, who was still laying quietly in the bag, “I just, you know...look, he was overreacting, okay, I had to put him down. He really did this to himself more then anything else, you know just as well as any of us how wild he can be.”

 

Dee put her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes. She was not drunk enough for this shit. “Okay, okay. I do know that. Shit. Alright...so, what was he overreacting too?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What was he overreacting too, you said he was overreacting.”

 

“Did I? I don't...” Dennis rubbed at his face. “I did, okay, I said that. Right. He was...Sweet Dee, Sister of mine, you love me, right?”

 

Dee made a face at this, considering for a minute before shrugging noncommittally. “Eh.”

 

Dennis looked genuinely surprised by this, “Eh? Eh!? You're my twin, you're obligated to love me! What do you mean, eh?”

 

Dee scowled, rubbing beneath her eyes. So, so not drunk enough for this shit. “Yes, okay, fine, Dennis, I love you. Sure. Wait,” Dee paused, giving this some real thought, “Do I even want to know? Like, how bad are we talking here? Because I swear to god, Dennis, if the choice is between throwing your ass under the bus or going to prison, I really hope I don't need to explain to you how fast I will-”

 

“I fucked him.”

 

Dee sputtered out mid-sentence, staring at her twin, who had gone carefully blank faced, though she noted that he was breathing a little heavier then usual. A moment went by as several heavily inebriated brain cells sparked and shivered and danced, trying to make sense of the enormity of this new information. What did that mean? How did it relate to the current circumstances? What was her own predicament now? Charlie?...

 

All of these logic sums equaled out in her head, and her immediate response was, “Ewwwww!”

 

Dennis looked surprised at the reaction for a second before huffing and rolling his eyes, “Oh, come on, Dee.”

 

“Charlie?! Of all people, you picked Charlie!?” Dee screeched, putting her fist to her hands and gagging a little bit as Dennis just looked at her, exasperated, “Oh God, Dennis, did he even wash first?”

 

“I, no, it's a very...it wasn't planned, okay, and yes, I know, it's not exactly ideal-”

 

“I mean, I thought if you were gonna fucking go gay for anyone, it was going to be Mac, heaven knows the guy would throw himself under your dick by this point, but Charlie? You realize you probably have lice now.”

 

Dennis put his arms in a 'time-out' motion, “Woah, woah, lets make some things perfectly clear here. First of all, I don't have lice, I checked this morning. Second, I am not gay, okay? What happened this morning had nothing to do with his body, it was all about the-”

 

Dee put her head in her hands, “Dennis, I really don't need to hear how you get off, okay, I really don't. So is this why you tied Charlie into a sleeping bag? Because you didn't want him to out you two?”

 

“I mostly didn't want him to go to the police.” Dennis replied, deadpan.

 

“Why would he go to the poli-” Sweet Dee stopped.

 

She stopped and really, really thought about it.

 

“Oh God, Dennis!?” Dee cried, backing away from him, eyes wide and hands twitching, “You raped Charlie!? What the HELL!?”

 

“Jesus, Dee, announce it to all of Phillie, why don't you?” Dennis scowled, looking up at the ceiling, trying to recall if he had heard any footsteps lately. Fairly certain the bar was still unoccupied though, he turned back to Dee, “Look, I'll admit it, I shouldn't have, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I shouldn't have done it. But Dee...” Dennis gave her a small smile, a mad glint in his eyes, “Dee, it was amazing. It really, really was. To have someone just...so completely in your power. To not just convince them to obey, but to put them in a position where they can't resist you no matter how badly they might want to. It was incredible. I've never experienced anything like it.”

 

“Wow, great, really glad you enjoyed raping Charlie,” Dee said dryly, before pointing to the sleeping bag, “You realize how much shit you've just brought down on us, don't you? Why would you even tell me!? Have you told anyone else?”

 

“No. None of them would get it.”

 

“Oh, but I would?” Dee snarled, “Dennis, I really have no idea what kind of sister you think I am, but if you think I'm gonna risk my freedom to keep you out of trouble...how could you not know better, actually!? Ugh...why couldn't you have just killed him by yourself? ” Dee groaned. “I really don't think I can do it.”

 

“Kill him? Dee, I didn't tell you I raped Charlie so you would help me murder him and hide the body, god no. If that were to ever happen I'd go to Frank first, not you. I'm not crazy.” Dennis laughed, rolling his eyes. “No, no, that's not what this is about, Sweet Dee.”

 

Dee looked at him warily. “It's not? You don't want to kill him and hide the evidence?”

 

“No!”

 

“Then,” Dee stepped away from Dennis and towards the sleeping bag, Dennis following her step for step. The two circled around the bag. “Then what the hell is this all about?”

 

The two stopped, each twin on opposite sides of the bag. Dennis smiled, gently putting out his hands out, palms up. Not reaching out, but an unconscious gesture of welcoming in. “It was great, Dee. I have never felt more...at ease. Less pent up inside. It was like all this aggression that's been building up for -years-, Dee, fucking _years_...the weight of it all finally left my shoulders this morning, just a little bit.” He flexed his shoulders, as if the weight had been a true, physical thing, holding him down. And he smiled more, a gentleness in his gaze that Dee hadn't seen in a long time, “And I know that weight is on you too, Sweet Dee. I know you. I know you feel its pressure, its drowning, suffocating presence, all the time. That's why your such a fucking stupid bitch all the time. It's why I-” Dennis added in quickly, as she squawked, looking offended, “-am constantly snapping at people, screaming at Mac and, let's face it Dee, maybe being just a...tad...too aggressive with my womanly pursuits. But look at me now. Calm. Composed. Patient. Don't you see, Dee?”

 

Dee's eyes glanced towards the stairs, then back at Dennis again, her mind racing. “See what, see what now? What am I meant to be seeing? Because all I see right now is you acting like a crazy person, Dennis.”

 

Dennis turned his hands upwards. A small surrender. A patient smile. “That's exactly what I mean, Dee. My point is, we're -not- all crazy. We're -not- bad people. Not Really. We're just...under...pressure. Too much pressure for any sane person, which we ARE, Sweet Dee, to possibly bear without just fucking Losing It....occasionally. That's not Our fault, right?” Dennis took a step backwards, gesturing down to the sleeping bag, “We just need somewhere to _focus_...all that negativity. If we had somewhere to Put all of that negativity and anger and Rage-” a twisting of his face. A quick flash of the monster beneath. Then the smile. The patience. All back in a minute. “-then we would stop fucking self-destructing All The Time. Imagine it Dee,” Dennis said, moving around the sleeping bag, coming back towards Dee, who took a few steps back at the approach, “Imagine the next time you, say...went to an acting audition. You get so nervous before those, right? You always end up losing your temper and yelling at the interviewers, right?”

 

“Yeah...”

 

“Imagine if, just before the audition, you could come down here and-” Dennis turned, and with no warning, suddenly violently kicked the sleeping bag. Dee gasped and jumped back, though Dennis grabbed her arm again, motioning for her to stay calm as Charlie below curled and writhed below, a small choking, gasping noise coming from inside the sleeping bag, “-and just let all of that aggression out. How clear headed would be you going in, huh? How much -better- would you be?”

 

Dee rubbed at her knuckles nervously, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. “I...I really don't know Dennis. I mean, you're not wrong, okay? I'll say that, you're not wrong. I always feel like I'm wound up, like I'm going to, just, explode at any minute, okay, so yes, I know what you're talking about...” Dee bit her lip, shifting, foot to foot. Foot to foot, “and lashing out...does help. But...Charlie? Really? Isn't that a little...dark? Even for us?”

 

Dennis thought about it and sighed. He moved his hand from Dee's arm, and onto her back. “Is there anyone better? Charlie seems perfect for this sort of thing, if you ask me.” He replied honestly, before his expression got stony. Coming in close to Dee. “Look, Sweet Dee...lets be honest with each other. Can I be honest with you? You're one of the few people in the world I really feel I can be honest with. So...honestly?”

 

His hand drifted up, onto her opposite shoulder. Squeezed.

 

“If you don't see where I'm coming from here. If you're Not...onboard with this.” Dennis sighed, “Then you're really putting me into a corner here. I mean, I don't want to go to jail, Dee. And you're the only other person that knows. You do see how that puts me in a bit of a pickle...right?”

 

Dee narrowed her eyes at him, before shaking his hand off her shoulder, turning at him. “Now don't you try that 'Implication' bullshit with me, Dennis Reynolds. You don't scare me, bitch.”

 

Dennis stomped his foot into the ground, not even noticing the notable jerk of the sleeping bag at the sound, “Oh, come on, Dee, you have to see how I can't let you out of here without some certainty that you're not going to run to the police the second you leave this basement, it's only common sense!”

 

“Common sense?! Common sense would have been killing your rape victim, burying him, and never telling ANYONE, Dennis, like a NORMAL CRAZY PERON! Instead you want to, what, keep Charlie as some sort of living punch bag? How the hell are we meant to pull that off?! We can barely keep Charlie under control even when he wants do what we tell him, and you want to keep him under permanent lock-up somehow? And how the hell would we keep it from Mac and Frank?!”

 

Dennis put his hands in his pockets, giving her a sly smile, “We wouldn't. I want to bring them into the fold as well.”

 

“Oh god, Dennis, you've lost your mind. You've really lost your mind,” Dee groaned, running her hands roughly through her hair, walking in a circle as she tried to think through the fear that was slowly building up inside her, “They'll never go for it Dennis. Mac can't keep a secret for longer then a couple of hours and Frank adores Charlie! How was this possibly going to work?”

 

“Let me worry about that, alright?” Dennis insisted, “Trust me, Dee, I can work this. I just need you to have faith in me. That's it, that's all I need you to do.”

 

Dee covered her eyes, really trying to think this through. This was insane. It was insane and she wished she wasn't dealing with it right now...but she was. It had already happened. For all of the insanity and stupidity and delusion of this awful plan, Dennis had already started with it, and Dee knew that she now had to pick between helping make it work (fucking how!?) or actively trying to take Dennis down. There was no in-between. She couldn't just try to pretend it hadn't happened, or just stay out of it. If she knew and never said anything, then when Dennis was caught, he would out her in a second and she would be arrested as an accomplice anyway. And as bold as her words were, she knew Dennis would try to keep her quiet in some way or another. She didn't believe he would kill her. She was fairly certain Dennis wasn't actually capable of love, but she also knew that whatever Dennis felt for her was some weird shadow of love, and she trusted that to keep her alive, at the very least. But it wouldn't protect her from, say, ending up in a sleeping bag right next to Charlie.

 

And when all was said and done...she had some sort of morphed shadow of love for Dennis too. She didn't actually want to see him get caught for this. She didn't know what state punishment for rape and kidnapping was, but it probably wasn't good.

 

She bit her fingernail, looking at the sleeping bag, looked at Dennis...and then sighed. “Okay, okay. I'll help, alright?”

 

Dennis clapped his hands, “Ha, yes! I knew you would come around Dee, I knew you'd see the benefits to this. Oh man, that's so exciting, wow, honestly Dee, I just, I've never felt closer to you then in this moment. Do you want to hug? I feel like this is an appropriate moment to hug.”

 

“Ugh, no.” Dee grumbled, taking a step away from him in case he actually did want to hug, “Alright, Dennis, what now? What's step two? Should we try to convince Mac?”

 

Dennis hit his fists together, making a little snapping noise as he huffed, “Um, yes, eventually, but no, that's not step two. Step two is you performing some sort of crime against Charlie here.”

 

Dee raised an eyebrow, not sure if she was following that right, “What?”

 

Dennis laughed, “Well, I did say, Dee, that I need some sort of guarantee that you won't tell the police once you leave this basement. I mean, I believe you, when you say you won't, but just going on belief alone would be really, really dumb. No, I need to know that if you told on me today, you'd be going to jail yourself once it was all said and done. That way I Know...that you're just as invested in keeping this secret as I am.”

 

“Oh god, Dennis, really?” Dee sighed, looking down at the bag, “What the hell do you expect me to do with him? I'm not gonna fuck him, he's super gross. I'd probably get an infection.”

 

“We could clean him. In fact, a 'keep Charlie clean' policy is going to be implemented as soon as we get all the basic stuff nailed down, like getting Mac and Frank in on this and figuring out a more...permanent spot to keep him, that's not a sleeping bag, ya know? But you don't have to fuck him. You can do literally anything to him. That's the fun! I burnt up his neck and forehead with scalding hot water this morning. That was very therapeutic.”

 

“You burnt him?!”

 

Dennis grinned, going to what would typically be the open end of the sleeping bag, which was currently tied shut and connected to the basement radiator, and quickly undoing the knotting work, opening up the hole. “Yeah, come check it out. I haven't seen it since this morning, so I bet it's started blistering. The human skin really is amazingly durable. Hold on.” Dennis took the zipper of the sleeping bag and opened it up, revealing most of Charlie laying on his side, with his head still inside of the foot section, which the zipper didn't reach all the way down to. “Hold the bottom bit so I can slide him out, Dee.”

 

Dee hesitated for a moment before reaching down to grab it, Dennis grabbing Charlie himself and pulling him out.

 

Considering everything, Charlie was in better shape then Dee had been imagining a moment before. He blinked at the light and was incredibly tense and sweaty, no doubt from the heat, and his hair was matted to his head, but other then some dark bruises on his neck and what did look like a nasty burn on his forehead and a little behind his ear, Charlie looked more or less normal. Tied up and squirming now that he was out of the sleeping bag, sure: but normal.

 

Dennis grabbed at Charlies lower jaw and turned his head around, clearly taking delight in his work as he commented, “Yep, yep, I called it. Some light blistering, redning of the skin. So long as none of that pus gets infected, we're in good shape, huh Charlie?”

 

Charlie didn't say anything, just looking nervously from Dennis to Dee. Dee, for a moment, wondered why Charlie wouldn't be looking to her for help, but then realized he had probably been able to hear just fine that entire conversation, which presented another issue for her. Even if she backed out now and tried to run, and even if Dennis never sold her out once he was (inevitably, without her around to help him out) caught, Charlie would still know that she knew what was happening and hadn't tried to help him. He'd tell on her instantly, the little shit.

 

Well...fuck. What kind of choice did she really have, then?

 

Charlie was practically making her.

 

“Okay...okay. So, I'll just...I'll hurt him in some way, I guess? Will that make you trust me?” Dee asked.

 

Dennis glanced up at her from his position on one knee next to Charlie, who was now staring up at Dee, before looking back down at Charlie, his face glowing with affection. Perhaps a bit jealous of the attention Charlie was giving to Dee, Dennis ran a hand threw Charlies hair, who jerked at the sudden contact, his eyes moving back towards what was possibly a more immediate threat. “Think of it like this, Dee.” Dennis said, his voice low. Soothing. “You remember that girl, what was her name...from the fourth grade? The one with the stickers?”

 

Dee flinched. “Angela Stitsky?”

 

Dennis snapped his fingers. “That's the one. If I recall right, she was your first really, really brutal bully. Stuck stickers all over the school telling the whole world that you had a crush on ol' Johnny, who was so horrified at the idea of people thinking he reciprocated your feelings that he punched you in the face in the playground, just so no one would get the wrong idea. Now, tell me Dee.” Dennis said, breaking his gaze from Charlie and looked up at his sister. Smiling. “If you had little Angie here, right now...what would you want to do to _her_?”

 

OH...

 

…

 

o _h..._

 

_-_

 

Okay...okay...okay okay okay.

 

No lying, no fibbing, just being honest with yourself Charlie-boy, holy shit, but Dennis and Dee had never looked so damned scary then they did now (and Charlie had seen both of them do some pretty scary shit in his life, so that was nothing to scoff at), staring down at him, Dennis with this sly little smirk and Dee just looking more and more pissed, as some fucking thing Dennis brought up raced through her mind. This was going to suck. Whatever happened next was really, really going to suck.

 

“Dennis,” Dee said, still looking at him way, way too intensely. “Do you have a knife on you?”

 

Dennis chuckled. “Do I have a knife on me?” He finished something out of his pocket and, with a twitch of his wrist, out came a thin, shining switchblade, “Dee, please. Here you go.” As Dee reached for it, Dennis suddenly held it back. “Now, you know he's for everyone, right? So don't go breaking the toy before anyone else has had a chance to play.”

 

“What? Yes, I know, I got it, I'm not a child Dennis, just give me the knife.” Dee scowled, taking the knife from a shrugging Dennis. Charlies eyes were now only for the knife. Okay. Fine, fine. Charlie could handle this. He was a Dirtgrub, had been one his whole life, and if there was one thing a Dirtgrub could handle, it was pain. He could take this. Fuck them. He would be fine!

 

That didn't stop the plummet of fear in his gut as Dee moved at him with the knife, Dennis scooting over to get out of her way.

 

She looked over him, clearly trying to decide how to go about this. Fuck you Dee. Fuck you, you stupid, mean, awful bitch! You know what? You know what!? It didn't matter what she did, he wasn't going to react at all! Not much 'fun' then, huh!? She could stab him in the dick for all he cared, he wasn't going to so much as flinch! He wasn't-

 

Oh shit oh shit oh shit! Ow!

 

Dee had grabbed him by the top of his hair, pulling him up into a sitting position by the roots, Dennis helping by grabbing his arm and pulling him steady as he now sat on top of the sleeping bag, Dee's giant bear paws still heavily entangled into the back of his head. Charlie winced and shook at each jerk of those monstrous fingers, but Dee's face was too close to his own, and she looked...furious. And far away.

 

“You know, I don't even really remember what she looked like?” Dee whispered, and Charlie had no idea who, exactly, she was talking too, but the knife was now in front of his face, hovering. “All I remember is what everyone else said about her. How pretty she was. How cute. Mom said it. Did you know that Dennis? Dear old mom, when she found out about the punch, told me that John wouldn't have hit me if I was prettier, like sweet little Angela...Mom.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. Her cheeks went white.

 

“ _Mom.”_

 

Oh god, Dee, I'm not your mom, I'm not her, your mom was a fucking bitch, I mean, yeah, he probably wouldn't have hit you if you were pretty, but holy shit Mom's aren't supposed to tell their kids that, their supposed to protect them, I'm on your side Dee, I'm on ow OW-OW-OW-DEE-YOU-STUPID-FUCKING-BIRD-BRAINED-BITCH-OW-STOP!!

 

The knife was running down from just below his eyes, in a downward stroke towards his chin, light at first, uncertain, but deeper the further down she got, her hands steady, her eyes livid. Ow-ow-ow-, his face, Dee, stop!!

 

“Woah. Woah.” Dennis said, placing a gentle hand on his Sisters shoulder, who jerked at the touch, that mad glint still in her eyes, “Dee, just some advice, envisioning Mom might be a bit early in this, okay? Like I said, we don't want to kill him. Maybe take our some of your 'mom' aggression later, when you're more practiced at this.”

 

“No, no, no!” Dee screeched, knocking his hand away, Dennis just glowering at her now as she insisted, “I've got this, I'm under control. It's not about Mom. It's about that little bitch Angela! And you're right, you know,” she giggled, suddenly, the giggle looking odd at her still just plain enraged face, “that felt good. Give me another go, he's barely even bleeding. I'll stay in control.”

 

Charlie was shaking hard now, and tried to lean away from her as she came back in with the knife, but Dennis's hands were not on his arm and back, and there was nowhere for Charlie to go.

 

“Yeah...yeah, that little turd Angela. Who even knows where she is now? Probably has three kids in some miserable marriage by now, unable to stop her stupid, unfulfilled family life. Exactly what that bitch deserved,” Dee started at the opposite side of the forehead now, once again trailing down, lightly, every little piece of the cut hitting Charlies face like lightning. Unconsciously, he tried to turn his face away, to hide himself, but her hands were back in his hair again. “That's what Mom wanted for me, you know? Said, Sweet Dee, my little girl, you better hope you find some poor man willing to take care of you the rest of your life, because Heaven knows you won't be able to do it yourself.”

 

A deeper line, now drifting to the left rather then going all the way down, like the other had. Charlie tried to lean back. Dennis leaned in. “Dee...”

 

“Well, look at us now, Mom. You're dead!” Dee snarled, pushing harder. Charlie cried out against the gag. Dennis moved to stop Dee again, but it was too late, her eyes suddenly wild as she screamed out, “and I'm doing JUST FUCKING FINE, MOM!”

 

Charlie screamed.

 

The knife was halfway through the top of his left ear by the time Dennis pulled her off of him.

 

-

 

Dennis managed to pull his sister off in time before the top of the ear was entirely detached, but realized further action was needed when she tried to lung at Charlie again, rage howling. He grabbed the knife, taking it away from her and holding her back as he shouted, “Dee! Sweet Dee! Deandra, stop it! Calm down!”

 

“She was such a bitch, she was such a bitch, oh my god I hated her, I hated her so much!”

 

“I know, Dee,” Dennis waved his hand in front of her face, until finally he had his sisters attention, who stared at him, tense and angry. He squeezed her shoulders. He stared her in the eyes. “Dee. I know. She was.”

 

Dee stared at him. Her wide, blue eyes had gone red. Her lips trembled.

 

Then she laughed.

 

Her shoulders dropped and she laughed, wiping a few unshed tears out of her eyes, before breathing deeply. “Wow.” Dee said, laughing again, and suddenly she just seemed to be...glowing. Elated. Blood spatter that had spurted from Charlies ear speckled her face, which was lit in joy.

 

In this moment for the first time in a very long time, Dennis's Princess seemed...beautiful.

 

“Dee?” Dennis said carefully, appraising her carefully. “Are you okay?”

 

“Wow,” Dee said again, looking over at Charlie on the floor, who was curled up and hyperventilating, his eyes tightly closed. She laughed at the sight. He looked...so funny. There was blood all over his face. For a moment she thought she ought to apologize for that...and then remembered she didn't have to. Not ever again. She laughed instead. “Wow, Dennis, I had...I didn't realize all of that was still so pent up inside of me. I just...I feel great! For a minute there, I actually felt like I was cutting that BIT-...that bitch into ribbons, you know? And I don't even care that it wasn't really her, because now its like...like-”

 

“Like you almost remember doing just that?” Dennis asked, a knowing grin on his face. “Feels good, right? I told you I wasn't crazy.”

 

Dee snorted, “Oh, no, you are definitely still crazy. But,” she laughed. “I guess, fuck it, so am I!”

 

She laughed some more, and after a moment Dennis laughed with her. The God and the Princess knelt in the dark above their Tribute...and were graced with revelry.

 

After awhile, as the chuckles died down, Dee noticed Charlie twitch and whimper. The blood was getting into his eyes. “Oh man,” Dee said, staring at what was no doubt going to be an annoying chore in the immediate future, “I really did a number there. So, how do we deal with that, huh?”

 

Dennis shrugged his shoulders dismissively, “You didn't cut anything off, it looks like you only kind of sawed through the ear; we'll wrap it up, stop the bleeding, I'm sure the cuts will seal by themselves. And if not, we'll buy one of those skin staplers or those skin glue kits, I hear those work wonders. He'll be fine. In fact, I'll go get the wrap now, I have some down here.”

 

-

 

“Hmmm,” Dee said, wiping some of his blood off of her face with a rag that Dennis had tossed her, “So what does he think of all this?”

 

“Who, Charlie?” Dennis asked, as he trotted from the other side of the basement, having grabbed some of the wrap he had put there for an occasion just like this, “I imagine he's not exactly thrilled.”

 

“He didn't say anything when you first started doing this to him?” Dee asked, taking the roll as Dennis handed it to her, after he had taken a few lengths off of it. “Didn't plea for his freedom or anything like that? I'm just curious what he would have said. I can imagine what I would have said.”

 

“Oh, he was babbling all sorts of nonsense, I couldn't be bothered to listen to all of it. Hold still, Charlie, I'm wrapping your ear. I'll tell you one thing, he thought he was calling my bluff at one point when he said something about me not hurting him, and I bet he...hold on one second Dee.”

 

Dennis wrapped his hand around Charlies shirt collar and lifted him right up to his face, snarling as he whispered, “When I tell you to hold still, you fucking hold still or I swear for the life of me that the entire ear will come off and I will _make you eat it_.”

 

Charlie suddenly had only eyes for the floor, which annoyed Dennis somewhat, but when He dropped Charlie back down, the guy remained still. So all that would do for now.

 

“I just mean,” Dee sighed, leaning back, stretching out her shoulders, looking utterly relaxed, “What goes through a guys head during a time like this? I mean, with the two of us working together, we're gonna get Frank and Mac on our side, there's no doubt about that. Once that happens, Charlies life is effectively done. What's that like. Hey, Charlie?” Dee said, giving Charlie a little wave as Dennis finished up the wrapping, though for the cuts on his face all he could really do was just press some up against the deeper part of the cuts and tap it on, creating a bandage that was less then sturdy, “Your life is done. Is that weird?”

 

“Dee, come on now, Charlie don't listen to her, your life is Not over.” Dennis said, his voice sickly sweet as he gave Charlie a pat to his shoulder, “I mean, sure, life as you -know it- is over, but that's not the same thing. We're gonna give you a new life. A more efficient one. By the time the whole teething process of all this is over, why, I bet you'll be thrilled by just how simple everything is gonna be.”

 

“He's still gonna be doing the Charlie work, though, right?” Dee asked, getting up to her feet.

 

“What?” Dennis said, startled because he realized that he hadn't actually considered this yet. “Well, yeah, of course. I mean...listen, we'll work it out. It's all gonna be great.”

 

Dee laughed, the black pit in her soul swallowing her up.

 

“Yeah, sure.” She said.

 

-

 

Dennis appraised the risk of allowing Dee to go back up to the bar by herself for awhile, mildly worried that the moment he wasn't around she would get cold feet, before deciding it was a risk he was always eventually going to have to take. As Dee headed up stairs, he called out to her, “Just give me twenty minutes to reset everything down here, Dee. If Mac and Frank come back before I come back up, do not under any circumstance allow them down here.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, use my common sense, I got it,” Dee sniped back.

 

“If you used your common sense more often I wouldn't have to worry about you fucking this up, now would I?” Dennis muttered to himself.

 

“Heard that!”

 

“You were meant too!” He lied.

 

Dee left the basement humming.

 

Dennis grinned up at her retreating form, pleased at how it had all turned out. To be honest, though he had known his sister would have the same sense of euphoria over revenge that he had over control, he still hadn't thought she would take so quickly to it. And he hadn't expected it to feel so...nice, with her. Comfortable, even.

 

Fun. That had been fun.

 

But all fun and no work is how idiots lose their toys, so Dennis turned back to Charlie, who was still sitting on the open sleeping bag, breathing deeply, no doubt trying to force some fresh air through the gag and roll in his mouth. The guy was shivering, and Dennis wondered if that was the chill of the basement or the blood-loss or just an symptom of the recent trauma, but whatever it was, he liked the way it looked on him. Experimenting, Dennis turned too quickly and stepped forward, and to his amusement Charlies whole body turned away from him in a jerk, the lack of stability from his arms tied behind his back and his legs criss-crossed together causing him to tilt over from the movement, falling onto his side with a thud. Dennis held back a laugh, keeping his gaze stony. He had a certain image he needed to be presenting right now.

 

“You're going back in the sleeping bag,” Dennis said, his voice low and monotone. “You gave me a lot of trouble the last time I put you in there. I was in a hurry, so there was no time to really express my...feelings. On that.”

 

Charlie tried to squirm backwards at Dennis's approach, which Dennis had seen (purely on videos) work before while bound in that position, but Charlie's technique was just all wrong, and Dennis felt the need to tell him so.

 

“See, you're trying to hop with your hips,” Dennis said, bring his foot up and then, heavily, down as Charlies hip, causing a low grunt of pain which Dennis ignored as he continued on evenly, “when you should be making use of the strength of your abdomen which, yes, even your malnourished self ought to have an adequate amount to use in this situation. See, you just have to move your shoulders back, like this,” Dennis explained, using his foot to push gently Charlies bottom shoulder backwards, moving quickly to Charlies legs as he continued, “and move your legs back as far as you can like that,” the legs he shoved, not exactly gently, and he centered himself before Charlie had a chance to work out how to stabilize himself from this position as Dennis said, “and you use those two spots as your point of balance once you-RAGH!”

 

Dennis kicked Charlie square in the stomach, the dirtgrubs body automatically curling in on itself to prevent further harm, a desperate, gasping grunt escaping from behind Charlies gag.

 

Just as Dennis had said it would, Charlies body moved backwards by about an inch.

 

“See?” Dennis said, grinning in the afterglow of adrenaline, “It's all about technique.”

 

The gasping noise had turned into a sputter of gags and coughs. This persisted, and Dennis sighed to himself, taking a knee and placing a gentle hand on the side of Charlies neck. “Breath, buddy, you're forgetting to breath. What did I just say about technique? The ache is only going to get worst if you don't breath.”

 

A low, hissing sound came from Charlie, but it was too erratic, too short before he tried again. Charlies face had turned a deep red, his eyes a hot pink. Drool was falling from the brittle rope between his teeth, soaking the cloth ball behind them.

 

“Nope. Still wrong. See, now you're just hyperventilating,” Dennis pointed out dryly, “Jesus Christ, Charlie, this is just getting dull now. Your body knows how to breath, alright, just let it do its thing. Stop trying to control everything.”

 

Dennis laughed at this. He wasn't above self aware jokes.

 

He supposed he ought to remove the gag; fresh air would no doubt calm Charlie down, at least somewhat. But, ultimately, there was no real harm to allowing Charlie to pass out. Why not just let him hyperventilate until he blacks out, and then let his body reset on its own?

 

Because there was something Dennis had to make Charlie understand first.

 

Taking out the gag, Dennis only froze for a moment when a rush of angry shouting and desperate babble vomited from the Janitor, the noise loud and immediate. Dennis watched the door at the top of the stairwell carefully, then relaxed. No one was coming. While it could be that there was just no one around to hear the shouting, Dennis had suspected all day that the noise from the basement probably didn't travel well upstairs, or maybe even at all. More tests would need to be tried, but as the shouting continued and still no one came, he felt more confident about it every second. Satisfied with their privacy, he still got tired of the noise and jabbed Charlie hard in the throat with two of his fingers.

 

Shouting was replaced with more gasping and choking. “Dennis,” Charlie said, his voice now a weak, breaking croak, “I swear to God, man, I'm gonna kill you. I'm going to rip your face off YOUR FACE AND MAKE AND I'M GONNA EAT IT I SWEAR TO GOD!”

 

 

“You don't believe in God, Charlie,” Dennis said plainly, “A consequence of having a bible thumper as a friend, I always thought. But I like the energy, Charlie, that's good. Keep things interesting for me. I think you'll realize very soon that its important...to keep things interesting for me.”

 

“Oh, interesting? I have to be interesting, huh, is that what, well, okay fine! Untie me, Dennis, and I PROMISE the last thing I ever do to you will be INTERESTING AS HELL!”

 

Dennis chuckled, “That's cute. Anyway, Charlie, I don't really have time for this. You got your breath back? Yeah? Good. Now, hold still while I put the gag-oh, really, Charlie? Biting? You're really gonna trying to bite me? Don't be childish. You want to be childish? Fine, let's be childish.”

 

Charlie screamed.

 

“Still wanna be childish, Charlie?” Dennis said above the noise, squeezing Charlies bad ear some more. “You were all for it a second ago. Charlie? Still gonna act like some spoiled brat and try to bite me? Charlie? No, no, just staring at the floor is Not an answer, Charlie. I like to be answered.”

 

Another scream.

 

“Do we still wanna be childish?”

 

“N-no!”

 

“Do we still want to bite?”

 

“No, Dennis, I don't want to bite, I'm sorry, just stop! Oh shit I think I'm going to throw up.”

 

“You don't have permission to throw up, Charlie.” Dennis said, his voice flat. “So I would hold it down if I were you. Breath, Charlie. Slow breaths.”

 

Charlie, after a moment, complied, his breaths finally coming in slower and deeper. The white spots on his cheeks faded back into red. Blood was seeping through the ear wrap.

 

Dennis was pleased, “Good. Breath and listen, Charlie. I have something important to tell you. Are you listening?”

 

Charlie nodded. Good enough. “Good. So, what happened just now, with Dee. That's gonna happen again, Charlie. It's gonna happen as many times as she wants. As many times as anyone wants, really. And the whole gang is gonna be in on it.”

 

“Mac won't, Mac won't, the guy is my best friend, he won't,” Charlie sputtered out, rambling, his eyes rolling back to the floor. Dennis thought about punishing the interruption, but honestly he preferred Charlie reacting and talking, rather then staring numbly at nothing, as he had done on the bar counter. It was more interesting, more fun, that way.

 

And Mac would. Have fun, that is. Dennis wasn't worried about Mac. It was Frank that gave Dennis pause. But he didn't tell Charlie that.

 

“The gang is all going to get in on it, Charlie.” He repeated, “they're going to beat you, degrade you, possibly rape you, if they feel like it. You are going to end up listening to them, obeying them, becoming whatever they want you to be. But...” Dennis grabbed Charlies jaw, maneuvering himself straight into Charlies eye contact, staring intently, “You only obey them because I tell you too. They only indulge in you because I allow it. You don't belong to The Gang, not to Frank, not to Mac, not to Sweet Dee, regardless of whatever they believe. You only belong to me.”

 

Dennis ran an affectionate, possessive thumb gently up and down Charlies jaw-line. He saw the fear and anger in Charlies eyes and felt his libido curl pleasantly in his groin. He had honestly gotten off to just words before, and he suspected he might be about to get off to this. “Now,” he said, “Who do you belong to?”

 

Charlies eyes darted left. Darted right. Little beads of sweat fell down his forehead.

 

“Um...”

 

He responded.

 

-

 

Feeling inexplicably motivated in her good mood, Dee had started dong inventory of the alcohol behind the bar, something that The Gang had been insisting someone ought to do for the last four months. Now that she had started, she was pleasantly surprised to realize it actually wasn't going to take her that long to get done. Maybe an hour at most. She put on music in the background and continued on with it.

 

The basement door opened and shut, a glowering, frustrated Dennis stepping out. “Geez, Dennis, you were down there for a half hour. What happened?”

 

“I don't want to talk about it,” Dennis said moodily, grabbing a cold beer to nurse his blue-balls with.

 

Dee shrugged and went back to it.

 

-tbc-

 


End file.
